The Women who Ruled France
by Dr. Mini me
Summary: How did a female in the 17th century jump from a painter to being the backbone of the Sun King, Revolution, and the expansion of an empire? And where did she go after Napoleon fell from grace? She's not the only one trying to rule the world. (Carlisle/OC) Possible Esme but not likely, close to historical fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**The Academy of Fine arts is known as École des Beaux-Arts, keep in mind she is a french girl and all of this is in old french and sometimes italian if the structure of the sentences seem odd. It'll be come more apparent that shes not speaking english when Carlisle appears.**

 **Also pronunciation incase anyones wondering, _bee-bee-ahn. We're in 1663, she was born in 1640_**

 **Let me know if it's worth continuing or if theres any confusion!**

 **(Also females weren't allowed in specifically because of the whispers about the female painter and her male patrons, also the fact that studying the male nude was required was why females weren't allowed into the academy either.)**

* * *

As a child I knew France was wrought with civil strife with a child on the throne, Louis XIV seemed slow to age and his mother was talented at keeping tabs on France and Spain. Wars and revolts terrorised my home and took my two older brothers, Pierre and Jean in the aristocratic revolts.

The nobles and the parlements were constantly at odds with one another in small acts of chaos like Fronde. I was more interested in painting, however. My life was consumed by it, a tragedy playwright for a father and an absent mother left my three sisters and I with an knack for the Classical Arts. My father fell out of favour with the Cardinal Richelieu but remained popular enough to bend the will of many, allowing me a place in the Academy of Fine Arts.

I fell out of the favour of the courts easily as I'd broken protocol, my family fell out of many circles. It was absolutely unheard of for a female to be in such a school, risque, uncouth. Too pretty for a decent lady. Many heard of Louis XIV picking certain graduates out of the school, putting them to work in Versaille. I wanted to go to Versailles. So. Badly.

"Bibiane." I was startled for a short second clutching a kid gloved hand to my exposed collarbone.

"Monsieur." I bowed my head in respect to my tutor, Monsieur Nicolas Poussin. He was always such a quiet man, despite his voice sounding like the roar of the Seine. It seemed as though his feet never tapped against the floor. He was of wealth and dignation but not quite enough to be a Marquis. His heritage was not far enough for such a thing, instead he remained a well to do painter.

"Have you copied it yet?" His voice was clipped but still haunting in it's own way.

I pursed my lips looking between Caravaggio's _The Calling of Saint Matthew_ and my own canvas. Linseed oil and egg radiated the room as I thought about this. I'd been given a historical painting for my second exam in this school, they took me seriously but not enough to allow me to study in the same area as the men. I was left to my own devices for most of the day. This meant I often wandered Paris, looking for people to sketch or paint with watercolors.

"Bibiane."His voice was clipped now, impatient.

"I have completed my task." I bowed my head to him respectfully as he came closer and closer, peering over my shoulder. His scent was oddly pleasant yet struck a distant memory at the same time.

"Fascinating. Did you use the Camera obscura? No, no. Th-" He asked as I began to speak, "Of course no-" My words fell dead in my mouth at his look of hatred at my disobedience. Oops. I bowed my head again, leaving his red eyes to glower down at me and finally turn towards the canvas.

"You may go. You have completed your test for today." He nodded, running a finger over the dry corners but carefully avoiding all the wet portions. I began to wonder how he'd done such a thing, I myself had issues telling which was wet and which had dried already.

There had been quite the bit of talk at the academy when he'd disappeared into Rome for so long, only to come around again with a certain dark atmosphere about him. I'd seen portraits, he'd always painted himself with brown eyes and claimed a medical problem, taken care of with his doctor's help. I may have had only 23 years under my belt but I knew when something was strange, and my tutor was strange.

"Bibiane." I pulled my eyes to meet his hesitantly, feeling the beating in my heart take its steps faster.

"Yes?" I stood quietly as I could, my petticoats were rather heavy, and long but the tight white satin bodice squeezed my ribs uncomfortably in the moments it took me for me to pull my paned sleeves farther down over my gloves. I hadn't dripped paint or oil over my petticoats or my sleeves but it was too early to tell if the white would show a stain on the white satin.

"Tomorrow I wish for you to do the same but instead use a rag and pallette knife." I frowned at his words.

"But, my talent lies in the brush." I frowned, trying to keep the grimace off of my face. He raised a brow at my lack of formality, "Sir." I pushed the word out uneasily as his brow stayed pinched. I was forcing myself not to fidget and fist my hands, keeping them flat against my bodice instead.

"And I'm asking you to use the knife. Is there a problem, Miss Corneille?" His voice wasn't nearly as strict, instead he sounded a bit amused with my attempt to correct the hostility in my posture.

"Of course not." I said nothing more after. I'd been dangling between finishing my training and being kicked out for disobedience since I'd started, the fact that I wasn't allowed to study the male nude left my education lacking. This was especially a threat to my dream as our Sun king loved historical paintings, with himself as the victor. Female hysteria was a real threat to my career.

I packed my brushes, cleaning and setting them inside their pouch carefully before I took my leave of the classroom. I did not hear the footsteps behind me, though in the years after, I realised that I'd been stalked since I took up my place in the academy. Ignorance was dangerous.

* * *

"The lines are not straight enough. Again." I felt my teeth grinding against each other as I took my rag and methodically wiped away the side of the tax collector's surprised expression. I'd always favoured the colours over the line, logic and order was never quite my idea of beautiful...essentially I was getting quite frustrated with this imbecile and his need to ruin my painting.

"Goodness, child." He snapped as I slowly lowered the rag onto the table beside me, snatching the knife out of my other hand. Abruptly I felt my skin stretches and burn as I pulled my arm back to my side quickly, determined to ignore the possible injury. Poussin was focused on his finishing of the man's feathered hat. I said nothing up until he stopped his work for a second, looking back at me slowly.

"Sir?" I raised a brow, looking at him as his eyes darted towards my arm and then back to my face. My head tilted unconsciously as his eyes seemed to blacken. My first thought was "devil' but my second was more along the lines of "Run.". I stood clumsily, tripping over my skirts and falling backwards unseemly. The pallette knife fell to the floor with a clang that broke the silence of our stare.

"Class is over for today." He turned with that and left, not another word or sound as he did so. Only the banging of the wooden doors alerted me that he'd genuinely left.

At first I could not stand, the bodice of my red dress didn't allow me to sit forwards to swing myself back onto my feet. I didn't want to call for help, how could I explain that situation and still claim my virtuousness? I couldn't. No. I'd have to find a way to do this on my own if I ever wanted to carry on my family name and reputation.

It took me until the sun had come down to finally roll to my knees and pick myself up slowly without ripping the white-laced waistcoat or the crimson short petticoat my father had bought me only a week ago. I hadn't gotten entirely used to the changing fashions of the day but I was struggling to keep along and at least seem fashionable.

It was more difficult given that my mother had stayed in Rouen with my sisters and my father and I were in Paris for his plays. He truly did not understand fashionable dress but nor did I which left me attempting to spy upon the dresses of the higher ladies I knew of-

I stopped for a second, the hair creeping up on the backs of my arms as I felt as though the very devil were searching for me. I felt my breath leave me as I stood here under a lamp on this street. It'd emptied out faster than I had realised. Frozen, I swear light fingers touched the tight curls my brown hair had been placed in this morning but when I spun around, there was no one in sight.

Perhaps I'd come across a black cat without knowing, ghosts are prone to trail those beasts. I can truly only hope that my evening prayer will keep them at bay should they be evil. I didn't need any in my life, there was simply not enough room for it.

Finding my door easily enough after another street, I hurried along towards it and slammed the door shut behind me. I went to step forwards but someone had grabbed my skirt, forcing me to fall over for the second time today.

Startled, I let out a short scream and kicked at my attacker, which forced my thick heeled shoe off. It smacked against the door as well, startling me with another bang, I'd angered him it seemed. I was going to die tonight.

"Bibiane?" My fathers confused voice spoke quickly as he came down the stairs, clacking along as he went.

"Father!" I cried, muffled. I'd shielded my face and could not see his expression though I'm sure he was much stronger about it than I.

"Bibiane. What are you doing? You're ruining the dress." My father's voice was not angry or scolding, instead he seemed amused. I picked my head up as I tried to look at him incredulously, what was my attacker even doing?

He had not fought back. In fact when I looked back at my skirts, I found I'd merely caught them on the corner of the door.

How utterly embarrassing.


	2. Chapter 2

**GoldieLover: Thanks very much for the feedback and review! **

**SodiumLamp0nAHill : I'm glad you're picking up on the history that went into writing this! **

**Enjoy x)**

* * *

"If you feel you cannot complete the course, tell me beforehand, Bibiane." I stood at the door way between the outside world and my father who looked reproachful yet wise enough with his hair unbrushed and a packet of letters in his hands.

"I'm fine. I felt faint from my work that day." I nodded, taking short steps backwards. My dressing maids hadn't been on time today, leaving me with a looser binding than I'd thought possible since I was 13 years old.

"I suppose. Get on your way now." He nodded, taking steps back into the house's first floor and shutting the door afterwards. Well then.

I took several steps back, making sure to only move subtly, grace was still somewhat important to me despite the ever swarming whispers from our neighbours. I hadn't had many suitors come by after I'd been admitted into the academy, the male nude was ever looming. To be fair, I'm not as pale nor my face as curved as I'd like...so I'd say it was a mix of the academy and the fact I'm average looking.

I should bathe more, but it was difficult to get that amount of water together for both my father and I between his plays and my art. We were still stuck to only one a month, I knew for a fact the noble families in Versaille bathed at least once a week, the King had demanded it.

"Miss Corneille, your head is in the clouds." Poussin's voice startled me, my hand fell off the Academy's front door.

"A little, sir." I bowed my head uneasily, feeling my heart beat skip again. This is uncomfortable.

"You should make sure to eliminate that, work on your art more. The king will be here in less than a fortnight." I could feel his gaze, burning. I felt almost powerless as he seemed to strike me with little else than his voice and his eyes.

"You're correct." I nodded at his words, heeding them enough to push all else from my mind excluding my goal.

Silence edged on and on between us, there were no other students leaving me with a bit of confusion as to why he was keeping me here still. I'd almost grown impatient when I heard him whisper something under his breath.

"Pardon?" I raised a brow at the stone stairs we were still standing on.

"I was merely pondering why you're so determined, Miss Corneille." His propriety was abound as he asked me the personal question, forcing me to lift my head. "It's unreachable." His words stopped my head.

I said nothing for a short while, corralling my anger and hurt at such a statement. I'd made it this far, hadn't I? For god's sake, I was _in_ the academy. I was step up from any female there was in existence today.

"Freedom, sir. A king as a patron is quite the step up from hiding away in Italy, wouldn't you say, sir?" I looked him in the eye as I spat out my retort.

A second passed, surprise roamed over his eyes and died quickly. At first I expected the anger, the yelling, the beratement for such disrespect. Instead he seemed to chuckle much like one would at a precocious child.

"We'll be studying the male nude today, Madame." He stated through waves of mirth as he continued back into the building as though I'd only been a minor stop. Minor, indeed. We stood out here for ages, I'd begun to feel the cold drifting up my skirts, good God.

* * *

This is excruciating. I was trying my hardest to focus on the curves of his frame but he was shaking like a leaf, poor thing. He was so nervous, my tutor's eyes boring a hole into his exposed spine. No. Terrified is more like it. Absolutely terrified. I stood with a sigh.

"Giving up, Miss Corneille?" Poussin's voice echoed in the room, remind me that it was typically filled with several dozen students at a time. With only one, every sound made quite the thunder.

"I'm getting some water, sir." I replied astutely, saying nothing more as I left the room.

I'd completed a study of his face already, it was his torso that gave me trouble...I just couldn't get past his...extra limb. I'd never seen such a thing since I was a child and a passing glance as a child didn't really seal it into my mind.

"Head in the clouds again?" I was startled yet again by my ever silent tutor. His face was one of victory, like he'd somehow won this game of his. It was far from over, honestly.

"I wouldn't say so, sir." I returned with the intention to not look shaken.

"I must admit, Madame, I had expected an intrinsically female response." He seemed to be making conversation which was oddly alarming.

"Which would be?" I challenged him, daring him to say what I knew was coming. Nicolas Poussin had been a man of few words in my presence and it seemed he was now interested in every word that came out of my mouth so I elected to test this new found interest.

"A fainting spell in the least." He resounded, watching my face slyly.

"And why would you expect such a thing?" I scoffed, turning to face him entirely.

"You seemed quite close to one yesterday evening." He dragged it out, leaving me with the impression he'd seen more than he'd let on originally. "Back to class now." His tone light as he chided me.

I followed behind him demurely with a feeling of dislike for the man spreading over my limbs as I watched his back. This was an extraordinary characteristic I wasn't sure I enjoyed, Poussin had me alarmed.

* * *

"Good evening, Miss Corneille." A male artist greeted warily me as he walked passed the stairs, both of us on our ways home. I believe he'd been focused on genre scenes, landscape painting and so on. Lower art forms. I may have been a scandal, looking at such a form as the male in his nudity a week ago, but atleast I was in prestigious work.

No. His scenes were much lower than my beloved history paintings. I would become great...some day. I vowed as much to my younger sisters when they accused me of being so uncourtly that I'd never find a respectable husband. At this rate, I wasn't sure I wanted one. They seemed like such work, such a drag of time and effort that I could place into my paintings.

My mother was forever instructing me to marry for wealth and power, I could follow my dreams with a lack of any discourse from society as long as I was the wife of a powerful man...If not powerful then talented. Someone who was famed for such talent.

I knocked into someone's shoulder, pointed and painful as I bounced off of it.

"Oh my word, I apologise." I looked up, expecting a female with her lace collar having scratched past my face. We looked soft and billowy at a distance but the closer one got, the easier one could see all our layers. Some looked a tad rubenesque, the ideal full-bodied women of our time but alas. We could not afford the food. One day, I would be able to eat all I wanted.

"Miss Cornielle." The same floating voice greeted me with bemusement that I'd grown used to in the past few months. Poussin. I supposed it'd been his wool cape that had touched my cheek. It had gotten rather chilled lately.

"Sir." I waited for him to greet me with a tip of his hat, which he did in time.

"Shall I walk you back?" He raised brow, speaking rather casually for a man of his stature. He was not married, meaning there was no need for him to be home early...but he'd gained quite the title for himself in time, hiding away in his hobble with the Italians. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea...but. It would be rude to refuse now, I'd already spent a moment debating it.

"I find that would be agreeable." I gave him a tip of my head in thanks, and moved in sync with him so I would be on the right. I placed my hand over his as customary, expecting him to continue walking. Instead he seemed even more amused than when I had bumbled into him.

"You're working towards courtly manners already, Miss Cornielle?" His brow raised still.

"One can never be too prepared." I resounded astutely, ignoring the possible laugh at my expense. One could also be a little to serious, my virtuousness hadn't been scorned by his words, so I let them go.

"Your work is exemplary." I was taken aback at the unabashed compliment of my passion. He was not typical to give a compliment, in fact it wasn't typical of him to give anything outside of a good criticism of design.

"Sir?" I was still searching for words as I glanced at him then quickly looked away. He stopped, turning to take hold of my hand in a more friendly fashion than I thought entirely appropriate for a tutor and his pupil to share. In fact, it was entirely _inappropriate_.

"I know I rarely say it, but honest to godliness, your work is magnificent." His words were honeyed with soft overtures of honesty and awe but I did not trust it. I held my head back with reproach as I realised I couldn't pull my gloved hand out of his. His grip was too strong. This was a threat to my virtuousness, especially if someone were to see us in such a position.

"Bibiane, I hope you think it not too bold of me but I wish to give you a gift." His head bowed with that, awaiting my response. I was leery of this gift of his. Leery of his entirely figure at the moment.

"Gift?" I raised a brow at his statement, confusion was clearly heard through my lips by him.

"Yes, a gift. You will be able to paint non-stop. And glorious paintings at that, each line, entirely precise and each colour exactly as you meant it to be." He nodded quickly, searching my eyes for my acceptance.

"And your price then?" My eyes were hooded with suspicion as I awaited his answer. It would likely cost a fortune, something that good. Too good. My back felt as though something were creeping up it.

"Merely your permission." He bowed his head again, portraying more respect than he'd ever shown in the last weeks of my training.

"Only that? Truly? " I raised both brows now, surprised at the cost.

"Yes. Only that. Your father already gave me permission when he handed you to me for my tutorship, Madame." He added, explaining the details I already knew over again. This was the only way that I'd be allowed in the Academy, I had to be under his gaze any time I was on the Academy grounds. It was simply policy.

"I...see." I remarked slowly to myself. How much did I really trust this offer of his? He'd been reputable in the past, no out lying debts, no children out of wedlock... But did I _trust_ him? Personally?

"Your reply?" He looked mildly disinterested for someone seemingly so persistent. I was thrown off yet again by that. His intrinsic trait to simply change whatever he felt in a second's notice. Yet... still, I felt enthralled by his proposition.

"I would appreciate some time...to think this over." I waited for a few seconds, hoping this would be enough for him now. Enough for me to simply think this all over.


End file.
